


force of habit

by convexity



Series: Sucking Lemons [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluffy, Food Issues, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, credence learning to chill out, gentle percival graves, graves has a very traumatized credence and he tries to get him to chill out, indulgent percival graves, only rated non-con for credence's legal status, sleep issues, sucking lemons verse, the cold shower trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: Where Credence wakes at dawn and Graves gets him to fall back asleep.





	force of habit

Credence had trouble casting off old habits. They were born in fear and punishment, and they haunted him.

He had trouble admiting he was hungry, or accepting things he recognized as indulgences like sweets, butter, or the sticky purple jam Graves spreads on their bread.

He was gently admonished for using cold water to bathe. Graves seemed almost alarmed by that one, sharp concern tearing a hole in the man’s aloof composure. He’d made Credence go back, strip naked again, stand under the hot water. “Just for a few minutes. Get that blue out of your lips. _Merlin._..”

Credence had ducked his head in shame and done as he was bid. The hot water felt good. It felt like hands on his skin, pulling at his tense shoulders, his freezing ribs and hips melting in the pleasure of it. After two minutes, steam was all around him and he felt sleepy, drunk with pleasure. He turned off the taps and climbed out to towel off, hoping he had pleased his master this time.

Credence had a hard time sleeping in. Graves did it whenever he could. It was easy for him to switch from work to the luxurious down time of his weekends. He’d rise late as he felt, read, take Credence out into the city, see a film, start drinking as early as four in the afternoon. They’d stay up late till Credence was yawning and falling asleep on the couch, with no regard for the passing of the hours like they had during the week.

Ma had said idle hands were the devil’s playthings. Credence’s days before were rooted deeply in the Puritan mythos of renouncing pleasure. The only pleasure one should seek was the satisfaction of a job well done. It was the only pleasure that was God’s. Credence knew that instinctually like he knew how to read the eyes of strangers, knew how to duck his head to avoid scorn.

At six every morning, his eyes opened, bleary and sleep-sore though they were, and he sat up in bed as if he’d been woken by a shrill bell (he still heard it in his dreams, just like he still felt her presence, felt the bite of the belt). During the week Graves was about to rise as well. He dressed quietly in the darkness. Credence would splash his face with cold water and dress as well, begin his chores diligently, wait for the parting kiss Graves always pressed to his forehead before he left. On the weekends, though, he wasnt allowed to do chores. Graves had forbade it, told him he needed to rest and relax. He might as well have asked Credence to read Greek. 

“Credence,” Came Grave’s voice, gruff with sleep. Credence warmed Grave’s bed as a slave was supposed to do. He found it gave him purpose and comfort, though before he had been afraid of it. His master was endlessly patient with him, gentle to a fault. He’d coaxed Credence into the bed like a fightened kitten the first night, plush covers and soft words enticing as a bowl of warm milk. “I’m not going to touch you.” He’d said when he’d gotten the boy to climb into the bed, tucked him in. “Not ever, if you don't want me to.” (It wasn't long, though, until Credence had wanted him to). 

Dawn had not yet broken. The teak and ash furniture of the room crouched like giants in the greying light that seeped through the tightly drawn drapes. Credence tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, half asleep and completely lost. 

“Credence- it’s only first light. And it’s Saturday.” Graves reminded him softly from the bed. Credence nodded, clearing his head of the alarm that woke him, the sense that he was late for chores. It still left his stomach in a knot, his heart beating in his ears.

“Will you lie back down for me?” _A direct request._ Credence’s heart jumped to answer. He went back down, cheek finding the dip in the pillow where it’d lain moments before.

“That’s the way.” Graves muttered.

“Here. I just remembered this.” He rolled over, reached in his nightstand drawer, rummaged for a moment. Credence got up on an elbow, strained to see what Graves was getting. After a moment his master produced a little navy blue mask with a black ribbon strap. Credence recoiled for a moment but realized it belonged to Graves. He probably used it, it wasn’t made for harming. It was not a contraption to punish or hurt him. _Had his master ever harmed him? No,_ he reminded himself sharply.

Graves passed it to Credence, and it was soft in his hands, almost cool, and it was touched with magic. Little silver stars danced over the part that would cover his eyes, blinking constellations of thread that shone and twinkled brighter and dim again. Credence looked to Graves, who was perched on an elbow and watching him with tired but kind eyes. 

“Here,” Graves took the mask from Credence’s hands, slid it up over his hair and set it on his forehead, tied the band behind his head, not too tight. “Pull it over those pretty eyes and you’ll sleep. You may find it’s weight soothing. And if you don't like it," he reminded, "just take it off, no harm done."

Credece pulled the soft mask over his eyes. He was in complete darkness again, and the cool soft weight of the mask was pillowy on his eyes. Graves was right, the slight pressure was oddly soothing. He sighed shakily and lay his head down.

“That’s it.” His ears told him Graves had lain back down, too. He felt Graves settle the blankets back over him. The weight of his hand lingered on Credence’s back for a moment, calming.

“There’s nothing so pressing that it can’t be seen to in a couple of hours.” Graves told him softly, trying to soothe him to sleep. The hand on his back moved in slow circles, and Credence noticed how soft the bed felt, how tired his body felt. His closed eyes felt so good, the weight of Grave’s hand and his honeyed words felt like an anchor. He felt brave, wriggled a little closer to Graves on the bed. He was met with a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s alright, you can c’mere,” his words were soft-edged and lazy with sleep. Credence wriggled more purposefully this time, stopped a foot from Graves. His master closed the distance by pulling Credence into him easily, draping his arm over the boy. Absently, eyes closed, he whispered to Credence.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I'm here. _Shhhh._ ” 

Here, Credence knew, even his dreams of the church would not dare to tread. Grave’s arms were a place he felt cherished, safe- things he’d never felt in his existence until suddenly there it was.

When he woke again and pulled the mask up to his forehead it was nearing noon, and he was alone in the expansive bed. Full daylight struggled to get through the drapes, but the room remained for the most part sweetly dark, cool as a cave.

Feeling deliciously rested, Credence stretched like a cat, pushing away guilt and telling himself Graves would be pleased he’d slept so long. He smelled coffee faintly, heard tinny, muffled sounds from the kitchen. In a moment he would swing his feet over the tall bed, pull the robe Graves had given him over his shoulders and wander out to find his master. On these lazy weekend days they were together all day, and Credence savoured them, basked in the attention Graves gave him.

For the moment, he curled his toes and arched his back, yawned. He let himself roll onto Grave’s side, put his face on his master’s pillow. His own pillow didn’t smell like anything to him, but Grave’s pillow smelled like him, like Credence was putting his face in his master’s neck, like Graves was holding him. Credence let one arm go under the pillow and dragged it to him, breathing in the scent of his salvation.


End file.
